When the dead walk among the living
by SupernaturallyHetalian
Summary: A business woman's plans end with disaster and disease, all planned of course. And of course, The former axis, allies, and the important nations get caught up in the sea of the dead. Question is, Can they make it out alive? Or unturned? USUK, Gerita, Franada, Sufin, Spamano, AusHun, Others


**Italics- 99%Thoughts/ Extreme emphasis **

**Regular-Regular text**

**Bold- Emphasis**

**. I came with this idea when i was doodling a limp!America pic (like Limp!Sam, Limp!America is America injured, or sick, or incapacitated in some similar way in a hurt/comfort story, and I like them with Britain supplying the comfort) of which I have an unhealthy obsession with, and America getting fucked up by zombies came out and i decided to build a story around that. Don't judge me alright, every fanfic writer is crazy**

**p.s. the ****slang, and certainly and QueensBrook (which are both fake btw, and as a reference,**

**_Queens Brook is located where the Manchester Royal Infirmary is, AND _****)**

**and ****Especially the geography **might (will) be a little off for everyone but America, but then again I am american (and damn proud of it too) and 16, and I haven't left the continental U.S. since I was 3, so its not like I'd be 100% accurate and not stereotypical. However, if you find me insulting at all, please tell me so I can fix it and be nice about it please

* * *

Leslie scurried down the hallway with the results of the test clutched in her hands. Glass walls to the left of her prevented her from successfully blending into the solid walls on her right but she tried anyway. She always hated attention.

The scan-pad on the door leading to 'her' office beeped twice and very loudly, announcing her entrance and frazzling poor Leslie even more. "_I need to calm down," _She thought,_ "She can smell fear." _Standing outside 'her' door, Leslie steeled herself. _  
_

Then, taking a deep breath, she walked in, shoulders back, head held high, like she actually felt confident when in reality she felt far, far from it.

The sight that greeted Leslie when she entered was nothing new. The floor was spotless, the room nearly bare save for a few self-portraits hung upon the walls. the giant screen on the wall to her right, and the intricate cabinet to her left, and the human/robotic work of art right in front of her. Abigail De'Laine, CEO of MBCF (Manchester Biochemical Facility, nicknamed BioChem), the leading biochemical research and development facility in northern Europe and located six blocks from Queens Brook and Manchester Royal Eye Hospital, sat her immaculate posterior on her designer chair from somewhere overseas (Leslie didn't happen to know, nor care) with her French-booted feet on her expensive mahogany desk that probably cost more than Leslie could make in a year (which when you're one of the lead biochemists in the nation, is a lot).

To top off the heaping plate of insecurity, Abigail was absolutely gorgeous. Tall, robust, and curvy with to-die-for proportions (none that anorexic, nutrient-deprived, stick-figure bollocks) and whitish-blonde hair in a unbroken sheet to her waist, and honey-brown eyes that could pierce your soul if she happened to look at you over her horn-rimmed glasses, which only served to make her look more intelligent. Next to Abigail, with her lanky black hair, pale plain grey eyes, a figure that could only generously be called petite or delicate and a height that would have a midget laugh, topping the board at 4'11, and the (in her honest opinion) hideous blood-red strawberry birthmark plastered across her left cheek and eye, Leslie stood no chance.

Madam Abigail, as she demanded to be called, was staring intently at the screen when Leslie walked in, and didn't notice her presence until several seconds later, after a forced throat-clearing from her faithful employee. She cast a critical glance at Leslie and waved a hand at the screen, and the topic of her interest disappeared. Then she swung her feet off her desk and faced her employee, an expression akin to annoyance mixed with curiosity on her face.

"Madam Abigail? We, I mean, the lads down at the lab, They've, I mean well I helped but-" She mentally kicked herself over and over as she spoke. If there was anything Abigail hated more than failure and dishonesty, it was timidity, and she was exuding that in spades. What the bleeding hell happened to the confidence she was pretending to show earlier?! Why couldn't she pretend to feel confident now?

Madam Abigail held up a perfectly manicured hand, signaling for her to stop. Leslie took to the chance before she could make a bigger fool of herself, which probably wasn't possible but still. "You know I hate stuttering, Lucy, now what is it? I was discussing something very important with someone before you appeared."

"Oh, uhm, ok." _It's Leslie, actually but, y'know, whatever._"The test results, Madam. I just printed them up."

Madam Abigail reached for the papers in Leslie's hand eagerly, "Really? Let me see." She read the results rapidly. When Leslie looked back at her boss, she was the first time in a very long while, Madam Abigail was smiling. She read through the pages looking like a child on Christmas day. "This is...fantastic! Amazing, every test subject was successful! This is brilliant! Finally, it can start, project 'Reborn' is a go."

She tapped a button on her desk and the screen on the wall flared to life again. Leslie began making her way to the door, seeing as this was most likely a private call but Madam stopped her. "No, you've massively contributed to this momentous occasion. Stay."

Leslie started gushing uncontrollably, "Wow, really? Madam, this-this is an honor-"

"-And I'd be even more honored if you'd keep quiet, Dr. Winchester. The enthusiasm is sweet but do keep it to yourself."

"uh...right, of course, sorry." Leslie muttered, feeling stung and indignant. She fell silent, watching numbers appear on the screen. She didn't have to ask what they were, it was pretty obvious that the digits were a phone number. The question was who.

In a matter of seconds, the blue and gray insignia of the company and the box underneath the phone number appeared in were wiped away revealing a somewhat grainy screen and...a brunette wearing only a feather boa across his head like an bandanna, and an equally naked woman draped across his lap, seated on a ripped and (blood?-)stained couch in a smoky room.

"Oh!" Among the other disappointing things in her life, Leslie had never had sex with anyone ever, hell she hadn't cleared first base yet, and like the average primary schoolgirl the sight of a enticingly fit, yet completely naked brunette male sent her into a fit of mortification and morbid curiosity. With her cheeks as red as a freshly slapped arse, she watched the naked man look from her to Madam Abigail and back to her and then to Madam once more. "What's goin' on then? You the blue?" He surely didn't act very surprised or suspicious even as he said that. Leslie found that she couldn't look directly at him or his...stuff, but she also felt it'd look bad if she looked away the entire time so she settled for a spot above his head and focused intently on it.

Madam shook her head, "Oh no, of course we aren't the police, Michael Colbert."

He sat up quickly, jostling the naked woman. She was the unceremoniously dumped to the ground with a squeak. "How-"

"-Do I know your name? Well, its not like I don't have access to these types of file, beautiful footprint by the way. Also, when I had one of my associates sneak into your crack-house under Oxford's, I found your safe. 123456 isn't a very secure code for it love, and I won't even begin about it's contents. However, fret not, my friend for your true identity is safe with me...if we can strike up a deal."

He grinned, revealing a few gold-plated teeth, "Thats what they all say. Wha's the deal?" His accent was so thick that even she had a hard time understanding it, but with context clues and a few seconds to think it over she managed to discerne his meaning. Madam waved her over and positioned her in front of the screen, directly in his line of view. "Explain to him the drug, if you would please Lucille. and that we'd like to distribute it through him to all of Manchester." A drug lord. oh. alright, that makes sense.

"Uh, m-my name's Leslie actually, but..uh Hello. Mr...?" She stammered, looking anywhere but at his...twigs and berries. Twig, actually, just one. not two, or more. that'd be ridiculous. But damn was it big.

And then she forced herself to look at him in the eyes and found them, as they always were, trained on her birthmark. She had gotten used to the staring..and the pointing and the laughing a long time ago, and ignored them.

"Cor, you're a nervous one. The street name's Mica." He said after a few minutes. Leslie blushed even harder and took a second to think about what she should say and how to say it. Caitlyn had gone over this with her before. "Ah, right. well. We have a drug that we'd like you to distribute to the Manchurian area, and specifically near the Queen's Brook Hospital. The drug itself, Asitetrol cortoxilyn , acts in much the same way as heroin but the lads down at the lab have extended and enhanced the 'rush' so to speak, and prolonged the euphoria up to two times longer."

He nodded, "Wow. Didn't understand most a' what you said, but it lasts twice as long as heroin? I'm definitely thinking about it. Question though, why near the hospital? Why not somewhere else, eh? I mightn't have a lotta morals, but I'm not gonna drug up some hospital patients."

"And that isn't what I'm asking you to do, Mr. Colbert. All I want is to be near it. And one other thing, I would highly suggest that you not partake in this drug, Mr. Colbert. Believe me, this stuff is to die for, and I mean that quite literally. Besides, I still need you. But, seeing as you obviously had wanted to do so, I'll offer an exchange. 400,000 quid as a starter fee from myself to you to sell my product and stick to your own merchandise. No does that sound?"

He grinned, "That sounds pretty fucking nice. Alright, I'm in."

"Excellent. An employee of mine is heading your way as we speak with the money and the drugs in tow. Pleasure doing business with you. We'll be in touch Mr. Colbert." The screen turned to black.

Madam sighed and leaned back in her chair. "Finally."

Leslie didn't say anything, in fact she wasn't noticed when she left Madam's room, her heart racing in her chest. She hated lying to people, always had, and always will but it had been necessary, right? For the good of Manchester BioChem, and for herself. The thought still didn't make her feel better.

She wondered how she had managed to keep a straight face when she told Mica about the drug, or rather, virus because it was no drug, it was an epidemic, a drug to bring the world to its knees. Now, she had seen and knew everything there was to know about zombie apocalypses and the like. She was what you might call a fanatic. She had played Left 4 Dead and Left 4 Dead 2 until blisters on her thumbs started interfering with her work, worshipped Dead Rising, Dead Island, had watched The Walking Dead for an entire week straight once, but she never, ever thought that one day she might be the start of the real zombie apocalypse.

And all because of Asitetrol cortoxilyn, or ReBorn as it was nicknamed by Jamie, the scientist underneath her in rank. He always had a way with nicknames, she herself was Stormy, because "Your eyes, luv. They're a perfect storm, if you ask me." Hearing it always made her oddly happy.

Being able to fully provide for her Nan, and Cassia, and Johnny with all the money she was going to receive was also a giant perk.

Now that her job was done, she was free to do whatever she wished until Madam called for her again. Maybe she should ask Jamie it he wanted to hit up a pub and have a few drinks, or Catlyn, or both. She didnt really care (unless it was Jamie, then she cared a lot) along long as she was out of the facility. Besides, she'd better hurry and drink in an actual pub and not the stuffy awkward one the facility provided while she could. The streets would be filled with freshly re-animated, hungry, corpses before long.

* * *

**_Two Days Later..._**

"Owieowowow! Dude, cut it out! That's my hair, I kinda need that!" America whined, snickering behind his hand. Arthur whacked him across the head with the back of his palm again, and grabbed a handful of golden curls again. The other residing nations watched on in amusement as France was slowly pulled into the argument.

"Then sit down and shut up! I swear on my life, America, you act so childish sometimes!"

America grinned cheekily, "Yes sir, sorry sir, I will be quiet, sir!" He saluted Arthur. Arthur rolled his eyes, and flicked Francis on the forehead."And you! Quit encouraging him! I know you do it to irk me, wanker."

"Ah but mon chere you make it so easy. I can't resist an easy opening." Said France.

"No of course you can't. Or any other type for that matter."

"And what do you mean by that, Angleterre?"

Arthur smirked, grimacing really. France knew he hated being called his own name in France's own tongue. "Nothing at all." Even though the implications were clear.

It was at this point that Germany, sensing a storm, decided to cut in. "If you three are done, we have a meeting to hold. Britain, I believe it is your turn to speak. Please stop squabbling and get to it."

Just a bit taken aback and a little stung, Britain did just that. He noted with a little satisfaction that the damnable Frenchman and his lovable, yet highly annoying, boyfriend were being cowed by the famous German glare...or maybe Alfred, since he purposely chose to be an annoying prick sometimes and actually read the mood other times, was actually being civil for the hell of it. Britain highly doubted it, but as long as he got to make his speech, he didn't really care. "Well, I have drawn up the documents for the new trade agreement with Western Asia and..."

When Britain started speaking, it was 10:00am. Despite his country's notorious luck with weather, it was a fairly nice day outside, balmy and sunny. When He finished his speech, the sky was cloudy and the clock read 12:23. A lunch break was called and one by one, or two by two depending, the nations stood to break for lunch. Germany waited for Italy and Prussia, Greece for Japan, Belarus and Ukraine for their brother, America waited at Britain's side as the englishman packed up his papers and got ready the continuation after lunch, Spain and Romano were chattering about something, Sweden was quietly watching his 'wife' as he spoke to the other three Nordics, Liechtenstien waited patiently for her brother, Austria held an arm out for Hungary who blushed to her roots and took it, smiling , and France and Canada joined up Britain and America and made their way to the door on the opposite side of the room.

"How is it that you're older than me, Al? I was under the impression that the smarter one had to be born first to make sure the dumb one didn't kill himself." remarked Canada, grinning.

"oh ha ha, Matties got jokes. I'll have you know that I'm plenty smart."

Britain choked back a snicker and tried not to smile when France was less than successful. "Hey! You guys are asses. I just act dumb to lower your expectations. Less work on me, y'know?"

"Well if that's the case then my expectations are plenty low." Said Britain, still chuckling.

America began to retort, but settled on a mild 'Shut up,' and a pout. Britain began to feel a little bad for insulting him. He **was** actually very, very intelligient, as was Matthew, but Alfred never seemed to drawn on it until the damage had already been done. Prime example being the Great Depression. That and he happened to get saddled with less-than-stellar leaders from time to time which wouldn't have been a problem if he weren't always directly in the spotlight of the world. But he was.

"You know I think you can be very smart...sometimes."

"Yeah yeah, thanks dude." America paused, and listened. _What was that?_ They walked down the hallway to the elevator, all the nations crowded against each other, with American, Britain, France and Canada bringing up the rear. "Where would you all like to eat at?" asked Britain, although America wasn't listening anymore. There was something about the hallway. It wasn't very well lit, and it smelled like tea, and it was pretty narrow, but the weird noise reached him like he was the only one there. "gsh...nnnannng...gishh..mgn.." It was so quiet, maybe it was nothing?

_It's probably nothing, I'm just hearing things... _Still...Italy was directly in front of him, and Germany was too and they were both in a conversation, yet he could still hear it. It sounded kinda like wet shoes on a floor, but not really, but it was the closest comparison he could come up with. "Mmmnnn...gshgannma...ihpmms...rrnnnngh..."

_There it was again! And it's louder. Seriously, what the fuck?! _Now Alfred was slightly more convinced of its validity, but just in case, he waited for it one more time. "NNNGGGGAAANNNN..." Now **that **was loud.

And nobody else gave any indication that they heard it.

"Didn't you guys hear that?"

Instantly, the entire hallway grew silent. Britain looked over his shoulder, but other than that, no one else moved. "Hear what, Alfred?" He whispered, careful to keep his voice low because after 1000+ years of being a nation you learn that keeping still and quiet is best in a lot random situations. All the older nations seemed to have the same idea. Matthew moved slowly to Alfred's side, squinting down the hallway where his brother was staring.

"It- Wait...what is...GUYS." Britain was staring right at Alfred and he saw his face go from squinting to disbelief mixed with shock. Matthew's expression mirrored his brother. So much so that they, despite claiming they weren't twins, looked exactly alike.

Britain was almost afraid to look behind him.

The lights in the hallway sucked bollocks, it was an old wing of the building and the newer one, the one they were supposed to have this meeting in was being renovated so the light flickered on and off. It made the whole scene that much creepier.

A slight figure, clothed in tattered rags and smelling like...death and shit mixed with a high schoolers locker-room, rounded the corner and started ambling down the hallway towards them. With every flash of light, the thing's feature became more clear. Tufts of hair, greenish white skin...a missing eye, now rotting skin, gouges out of its nose, bare jaw and (again) rotting teeth, you know what lets just say everything was rotting.

_no... It can't be. This isn't a bloody video game! _Britain couldn't -wouldn't- believe his eyes. He knew what it was, or at least what it was supposed to be, but logic dictated that this, this shouldn't be happening.

but it was though.

Logic was Britain's rock. Logic was failing _Britain_ of all people.

That 'rock' was now sand.

"Ho-lee fucking christ..." America muttered. It was, shit , that was! It! Was! Fuck! He couldn't bring himself to think it because that shit was way too crazy for, like, noon thirty, but he had played enough video games to know that they needed to go **now**.

"Uh, g-guys? We, uh, w-we should fucking, I dunno, run. Like, now."

"Hai, Oui, Ja, Yes, Fuck yeah, Sí." 'Yes's in about ten different languages sprang up from behind him. And the undead thing was averaging a stuttering crawl at best.

They all turned heel and raced back into the meeting room, taking the other, farther away from the...thing..., door. America was the last one in, and unfortunately the undead creature was close enough him to reach out and touch him. As the stench of rotting flesh overtook him, the little fucker reached out and managed to grab hold of the collar of his beloved bomber jacket. And boy did that thing have a grip. America cleared the door frame, reached for the handle, and thought he was safe. Until he was yanked back through the door, **hard.**

"Ack!" Britain was clear on the other side of the room when he met Alfred's eyes, and then he was somehow grabbing one wrist while Germany and Greece grabbed the other, and they pulled as hard as they could, wrenching America out of its undead grasp. He hit the floor while the door slammed shut and was locked, bolted and barricaded with the few extra chairs lying around.

America sat up, "God that was fucked up...wait. No! MY JACKET!"

The collar was hanging by threads and America looked like he had just watched puppies getting boiled. "Its just a jacket, America. Get over it." said Germany, brusquely, already over the situation and joining the mass discussion about what the hell just happened and what they were going to do about it. Britain knew better. This jacket was given to him by Amelia, Amelia Earhart ,and it was one of his most prized possessions and Britain thought it was rather sweet of him to keep it so he muttered a quick spell and the thing was good as new. America, who had looked to be on the verge of tears, smiled gratefully at him. "Thank you, Arthur."

"Not a problem. Now, onto more pressing matters. Just, just what in the hell was that?!."

"It was dead." Said Japan, "That was for certain. There's only one explanation for that. A zombie, it has to be." Everybody nodded in assent, but Britain wasn't quite ready to accept that.

"A zombie? R-Really now, everyone knows they don't exist. The idea..."

"Then what the hell was that thing? A fucking prank, because it looked pretty damn real to me!" Romano said.

"Fratello is right! We're gonna get eaten by zombies!" Italy's voice took on a hysterical tone, but Germany pulled him close, much to Romano's chargin.

"Ok, look! **No one **is going to get eaten! We don't know _what _it is so, so let's just be rational!" britain yelled.

"dude!" America grabbed him by the shoulders. "That thing was a fucking zombie!"

Britain's voice dropped to a whisper, "No it wasn't. You can't prove that."

"It looked like a zombie, it acted like a zombie, it sounded like a zombie, it sure as shit smelled like a zombie! Arthur how much more proof do you need?! Why is this so hard for you to accept-" "BECAUSE IT DOESNT MAKE ANY BLOODY SENSE!" Everyone else was to caught up to hear them. They had an odd sort of privacy,

Britain shook his head. "How can it? They're the fucking undead, for fucks sake. They aren't supposed to be real. But you gits just accept that so easily. Well, I can't, no actually I just don't want to. Maybe denial will make it go away. Heh, I can't believe its. I had expected this to happen centuries hence, not now. But it is, isn't it? Cor fucking blimey."

Alfred shrugged, smiling faintly. "You're too stubborn for your own good, dude. That's the freakin' problem. We need you though. We've got a zombie outside the door, and theres gonna be more since when has there ever been just one in the movies and the video games? This is Manchester, your domain. I'm gonna bet that we'll all get turned without your help."

"Thats quite the faith you have in your fellow nations you have there, luv. You're also forgetting the fact we could be anywhere else and you'd still need my help. You throw yourself into messes headfirst so often I can't believe you've survived this far."

"Hey!"

"You're right though. I need to suck it up. Thank you for the pep talk poppet."

"The hero's always happy to help."

"Britain!" Liechtenstein, regent for the main group, walked over to them. "We need you over there." She pointed to the mass over nations.

"This isn't our country, so we'll obviously need your assistance." Germany said by way of explanation.

"Ah, right. Ok then." Said Britain. America trailed behind him as they walked to the meeting table and all sat down.

"To start with, there is a zombie right outside this room. It is only safe to assume that there are much more nearby," Japan stated. As of to prove this point, the noise beyond the door started getting louder, as if there were more than one zombie behind it. "Firstly, we need a plan of escape, then we will figure out a plan of attack, map out our supply needs and so on. Britain, is there an area around here that's likely to be secure?"

He thought about it. "Well... We're the Travelodge right now, if we go north along Upper Brook street and take a left onto Grafton, We'll come across Queens Brook, the Manchester Royal Eye Hospital, and a few pubs and eateries. A hospital would be ideal, yes?"

Japan nodded, then turned and addressed the other nations. "Wouldn't it?"

"It has medicine, surgical tools, food in close proximity. It sounds like an excellent base to me." Said Germany.

"Well alright then. Let's head out!" America said with a grin. "But not without the proper supplies."

He was met with the general consenus that they needed weapons. "We keep such 'supplies' stored in all our meeting places for emergencys like this one, do we not?" France asked.

"Ah right. The storage unit, or course. I believe that this one is right..." Britain headed over to the storage closet near the door. Moans and groans, a very large amount of them, sounded behind the door, spurring Britain to hurry. Inside the closet, at the very back was a barely perceptible outline of a door and a keypad. It was a few seconds before he remembered what the code was but sure enough, it opened.

Rows upon rows of all guns of every make and model lined the walls on racks, as did bows and quivers. Swords, bats, mace, clubs, crossbow, bludgeons, daggers, staffs, whips, spears and axes covered the shelves from every culture and for every preference lay underneath the guns and at the back of the room in little compartments were bags, arrows, and most importantly, artillery.

America had a thing for weapons, like all nations are won't to do, but maybe a little more than the average nation. He let out a low whistle at the sight and grinned like the devil he could be. "Ladies and Gentlemen, Welcome to Hell. For them anyway."

* * *

Leslie looked at the screen with the tiniest flame of fear flaring to life in her chest. At least twelve unturned men and women here heading out of the travelodge hotel. And it seemed as though they were all heading straight for MBCF. How did they find out the true cause of the outbreak?!

Not that they couldn't be deterred or beaten back or even killed if necessary but...

That settled it. She stood up and ran down the nearly empty hallway from the survaillence room to Madam Abigail's office, bursting through the front door. Madam looked up from her computer, and frowned but before she could reproacH her or insult her or anything like that, Leslie spoke."Large party, Madam! At least twelve of them! They're heading right for us, and they look to be heavily armed!"

For the longest time, Madam said nothing. She just stared past Leslie, thinking. Then she spoke. "Go to George down at the fourth floor (they were on the eighth) and get a crossbow or a sniper rifle. Head to the roof and killed them all. Spare no one, do you understand?"

Leslie swallowed hard. She had a difficult time killing cockroaches, but humans? But it wasn't like she could disobey her superior, right? "Y-Yes Madam, right away."


End file.
